Oak brought forth the ghost of a sparrow from his mind and clad himself in the trappings of the memory construct. He vanished, and in an instant where once stood a man, now a male sparrow spread its wings in the Waking Dream. His black, white, and brown markings flowed over each other and back again, ever moving over his feathers.
Taking flight was effortless. Oak flew over the fields, delighting in the unnatural beauty of the Dream. The homesteads dotting the valley were different here than in the real world. Some houses, like the Cutters’ house, rose high towards the heavens and bent back towards the ground, almost touching the fields with their thatched roofs.
Others seemed almost normal, but the longer you looked at them, the more their forms in the Dream twisted until it was hard to recognize they had ever been houses in the first place. Then Oak blinked, and the buildings returned to normal, only for their wooden walls to grow and twist again, while their neighbors swayed in the wind.
The sound of wood groaning as the houses danced in the breeze filled the fields. Oak dove under the arch made by one of the bent houses and whooped out of joy in the privacy of his own mind. Sometimes the weight of the past dragged him down with it. And yet here he was, soaring on wings of memory. Wonders never cease, Oak thought, and dove even lower, his feathers almost touching the sea of wheat under him as he sped towards the vegetable patch and the poltergeist.
Oak made a circle around the sorry creature before landing and shaping himself back to human form. The poltergeist let out a horrid wail and focused its many eyes on him. It looked absolutely wretched.
Limbs and faces bulged from the poltergeist’s body without rhyme or reason, grasping, twitching and gaping for a mind to hold on to. Its skin was so blue it was almost purple and so translucent Oak could see the flesh and bone beneath. It could barely be called human-shaped if one squinted a little. A joining of memories of pain, despair and death from many different people, resulting in the creature before him.
Oak circled the thing slowly and pulled forth a ghost fit for purpose. Kaarina’s Horror curved over his shoulder blade like a giant black stinger, ready to pierce and destroy. Something about the poltergeist bothered Oak, and he did not want to break it before he understood the shiver traveling along his spine.
The poltergeist was desperately frail, held together by a thread. The thing’s presence in the Dream was weak and fleeting. It was pure luck that his Scout had noticed it in the first place, considering how it melted into the background, vanishing under the currents of the dream and then popping back into view.
So why are you here alone? Oak thought. Usually, the birth of a poltergeist required the violent and painful death of at least a small group of people. Something this mangled should require a larger group, and that tends to mean more than one poltergeist. The wretched thing lunged at Oak, but its movements were sluggish and easily avoided.
The icy touch of uncertainty trapped Oak as he circled the poltergeist. As far as he knew, you could not really dive into the mind of a poltergeist since beneath the exterior comprising memories of death and horror were only more of the same, undulating beneath the transparent blue skin.
The poor creature was so weak, it would burst the second he did it harm, and the Dream would wash away the memories it was made of. He would have one shot at recovering at least a couple of memories so he could piece together what had happened.
“Nothing for it, just gotta get to it,” Oak said, and Kaarina’s Horror lunged forward, guided by his will. The stinger pierced through the poltergeist's chest, and with a wheezing wail, the thing burst apart. Thought-stuff spilled from its broken container, memories swirling in all directions.
Oak reached for them with his will and captured three memories. The currents of the Dream swallowed the rest. The shards glinted and spun in front of him in the Dream, showing flashes of the recollection and experience within on their surface. He stretched them open and pilfered the secrets inside.
What Oak found left him with more questions than answers. The memories were mangled almost beyond recognition. Flashes of axes and swords striking down upon whoever formed the memory, arrows piercing someone's back as they crawled desperately towards a treeline. Terror overwhelming, as flames lick the walls of the only home a child has ever known. No sign of the ones responsible remained, not even a single face.
Oak let out a growl of frustration, called back his Scout, and made his way back to his body. Consciousness returned to his earthly vessel, and he opened his eyes in the real world. Geezer poked him and Oak gave the dog a well deserved petting for a job well done.
Not much I can personally do with this, but it means I now have some proof to point towards when I give my warning, without having to explain my worship of Ashmedai to anybody, Oak thought. People were generally fairly hands off with the religious affiliations of others. But Soot and the Ealderman worked for the King. And there was not a king in Creation who was completely comfortable with the worshippers of Ashmedai.
I will take the memories to Soot and be done with it. She can deal with this herself or have one of the spooks working for the Ealdorman look into the matter, Oak thought. With his decision made and the matter soon safely out of his hands, Oak turned his mind to other endeavors as he started walking towards Spoke with Geezer in tow. Now, how much salt will I need and how much can I actually buy?
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As luck would have it, Oak and Geezer were a stone's throw away from the town gates when the storm caught up with them. Rain fell like a heavy shroud, blanketing the world. It was the type of rain that made you wet and cold to the bone in a heartbeat, and as the guard waved him inside the town Oak had already decided he would stay the night at a tavern, even if spending coin on such things made his miserly heart bleed.
For a fleeting moment the gatehouse above shielded Oak and Geezer from the freezing rain, as they entered the town of Spoke. Oak felt a slight shiver as he passed through the town's wards, which kept those inside them safe from the predators of the Waking Dream.
The streets were mostly made of mud, horse dung, and more mud, and there was an ever-present smell of urine from the tanneries. The smell of puke would soon add itself to the mix. Spring meant that the docks would be busy, and in short order the taverns would be filled with boathands drinking away their coin.
Oak headed straight towards the center of town since he wanted to hoist the matter of the poltergeist and the murdered farmers on someone else's shoulders as fast as possible and do his shopping in peace afterwards. He was quite happy to let Soot and her boys hunt down whatever sorry group of bandits and lowlifes were responsible for this mess and put them six feet under.
The Ealdorman's problem solver could probably handle this in an afternoon.
Geezer followed right behind him, unbothered by the rain, while Oak cursed and stomped through puddles, water soaking his blonde hair and clinging to his boots. The streets were fairly empty, and those who had the misfortune of having to face the downpour did not stop to exchange pleasantries, so Oak soon found himself crossing the market square.
He spared a glance towards the old and decaying church of the Corpse-God, which stood on the southern side of the square. No matter the hour, the place had a way of pulling his gaze to it.
As riveting as he found the old church, he was bound elsewhere. The Ealdorman’s manor was built like a giant longhouse, but unlike the longhouses you could find in many other towns and villages, this one was two stories tall. Right next to it was a brutal-looking stone keep with tiny arrow slits for windows and a wooden sign with King Jair’s coat-of-arms painted on it; a wolf carrying a war axe in its mouth on a yellow background.
A currently unpowered war-golem made of bronze stood on the porch, claws like short swords interlocked over its chest. When that thing straightened its thin limbs and gaunt body, it stood even taller than Oak. He always felt like the empty eye sockets followed his every move.
“Stay, Geezer,” Oak said and knocked on the keep’s door. A new face barely out of his teens came to open the door, and after staring at Oak’s chest for a second, craned his neck upwards and threw a questioning look in his direction.
“What is it, Oak?” the youngster asked, and scratched the sorry beginnings of a beard.
“I need to see Soot. Is she around?” Oak asked.
The young man nodded and opened the door for him. “Soot is in the back.”
As Oak bowed his head and stepped inside, the youngster noticed Geezer sitting in the rain. “If your dog knows how to behave himself, he can come in too and wait here with me. No need to keep him out in such terrible weather,” he said, and let out a mighty sneeze. “Damn, I hate it when it rains like this.”
“That is kind of you, son. What's your name, so I know who to thank?” Oak asked and beckoned Geezer inside.
“Pa named me Edgar after my grandpa, but most just call me Ed,” said the youngster. He had an easy smile on his face as he stared past Oak into the downpour. Someone slipped and fell down, cursing on the other side of the square, and Ed’s smile got a little wider.
“Well, you are an all right sort, Ed, so I will leave Geezer here to your care. I should not be too long and then we will be out of your hair.” Oak clapped Ed on the shoulder, and walked across the entrance hall towards Soot’s office, dripping water on the floor as he went.
The door was open, so Oak leaned against the doorframe and addressed the thin, pale and dark-haired woman dressed in black pants, white dress shirt and a vest, reading a stack of papers in a chair by a crackling fireplace. “How is it going, Soot? Do you have a moment?”
Soot lifted a finger to show she had heard Oak as she finished reading a document, which she then put down on the small desk next to her chair. Then Soot turned her yellow cat-like eyes towards Oak and nodded at him. “I am doing paperwork. How well do you think my day could be going?” Soot answered and her thin lips gave a small smile. “But enough about my woes with bureaucracy. You have something for me, I can tell.”
Soot was both an accomplished spook, and a grafted. The woman looked unassuming enough, but her frame was stacked with wiry, unnatural muscle and she could see in the dark like it was bright as day. During the war, Oak had seen Soot cutting through Jarl Shaw’s carls like a hot knife through butter. The fucker probably had a barrel full of nasty tricks up her sleeves, and Oak was rightly scared of her.
Oak hid a shiver and answered: “I have three memories for you. Ran into a single poltergeist east of the town and thought you might want to have a look. Already viewed the memories myself, and I couldn't see any signs of who killed the poor bastards. They died relatively quickly, so I don’t think we have to worry about monsters or dwarves.” Both Oak and Soot brought a fist over their hearts and spared a prayer for the dwarves, after which Oak continued his report. “Most likely the work of some band of outlaws.”
Soot lifted a single eyebrow. “How curious. Hand them over, and I will look into it,” she said.
Oak closed his eyes and willed the shards of memory forth. They traveled from him to Soot, who kept the memories outside of her wards as she checked them over for anything dangerous or out of the ordinary. Old habits die hard, and a spook only made the mistake of taking trapped memories inside their mind once.
Getting hit with memory hazards and thought-plagues was horrible. Oak remembered a time during the war when he and his entire squad thought they all had seven different fathers, and a sister named Lucilda for two weeks.
Soot finished her cursory inspection and tucked the memories away inside her mind. “Thank you for seeing me right away. The Ealdorman does not take kindly to people breaking the King’s laws, nor do I. You can go now; I am sure you did not come to town just to visit me, and you probably have a couple of stops left before you can sit down in front of a nice mug of ale.
She looked at Oak with those unreadable yellow eyes of hers and frowned. “You know my offer is still open, right? You did good work during the war. I could use a man such as yourself.”
“I haven’t forgotten, and I am taken by the offer; I truly am. It just ain’t the life for me anymore,“ Oak said and shuffled his feet awkwardly. Soot nodded.
“So long,” Oak said, nodded and headed back across the entrance hall, leaving behind three memories, a puddle of water, and a job he feared he just might love.